


The Configuration of Three Points

by dannyPURO



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Combeferre Has a Plan, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Grantaire Is Bad At Feelings, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Mutual Pining, Poor Grantaire, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyPURO/pseuds/dannyPURO
Summary: Grantaire loves Combeferre.It seems almost ridiculous to think it consciously. Of course Grantaire loves Combeferre. That’s a given. Combeferre is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him in all of his 25 years. Combeferre is sweet and understanding and so, so smart, and sometimes Grantaire has to stop and think about how this is actually his life, now.Things are going shockingly well, is the thing. It’s been eight months since Combeferre asked him out, and they kiss and fuck and go on dates and cuddle together on the couch in Combeferre and Enjolras’s living room.Which brings him back to where he was originally going with this.Enjolras.The wrench in the plan is Enjolras.The wrench in the plan is always Enjolras.





	The Configuration of Three Points

Grantaire loves Combeferre.

It seems almost ridiculous to think it consciously. Of course Grantaire loves Combeferre. That’s a given. Combeferre is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him in all of his 25 years. Combeferre is sweet and understanding and so, so smart, and sometimes Grantaire has to stop and think about how this is actually his life, now.

Things are going shockingly well, is the thing. It’s been eight months since Combeferre asked him out, and they kiss and fuck and go on dates and cuddle together on the couch in Combeferre and Enjolras’s living room.

Which brings him back to where he was originally going with this.

Enjolras.

The wrench in the plan is Enjolras.

The wrench in the plan is always Enjolras.

Reason One: Grantaire may be in a committed relationship with Combeferre, but he will always be in love with Enjolras. He loves Ferre but he has been enamored by Enjolras, absolutely hopeless, since the day he saw him.

Reason Two: Combeferre would (probably) leave Grantaire in an instant for Enjolras. This goes without saying; Ferre and Enjolras have been friends forever, and they’re closer than anyone Grantaire has ever met, and Enjolras is so, so, shockingly beautiful and amazing and Grantaire is so, so average.

Reason Three: Grantaire is pretty sure anybody who spends any considerable amount of time with Combeferre is doomed to fall in love with him, and Enjolras has spent more time with Combeferre than anyone in the world.

Reason Four: Enjolras would never fall in love with Grantaire in a million years.

In short, Grantaire is pretty sure that this thing with Combeferre will end the moment Enjolras wakes the fuck up and realizes he must love Combeferre.

Grantaire is screwed.

He recognizes the beginning of the end when he’s lying in bed with Combeferre one evening, curled up against him, and Combeferre says, voice soft and full of wonder, “Enjolras is great, isn’t he?”

Grantaire stiffens, clears his throat. “You’d know better than I would,” he says, priding himself on the way his voice stays more or less even.

Combeferre frowns, running his fingers through Grantaire’s curls, and Grantaire has to focus really, really hard on that, instead of on the fact that he’s pretty sure that his boyfriend has just realized that he could be dating somebody better.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire tries to keep things normal. He does pretty well, too, he’s pretty sure. After all, it’s not Combeferre’s fault that Enjolras is amazing, and he’s not quite so hypocritical as to resent Combeferre for falling in love with him.

He’s a little sad, though.

He paints a lot-- pictures of Combeferre and Enjolras and that’s about it. He spends more time in the gym, if only to get used to not being around Combeferre. He goes the other way and spends as much time with Combeferre as he can squeeze out of these last few weeks. (He has wet dreams about Enjolras and Combeferre, next to each other in bed, touching and kissing in the the light shining through the window, looking so sublime.)

If Combeferre notices, he doesn’t say anything.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire comes to the realization that things might be coming to a close faster than he anticipated when Combeferre calls him on a Thursday afternoon and asks, so earnestly, “Is it alright with you if Enjolras hangs out with us tonight?”

Grantaire frowns. He almost laughs, because when has Combeferre ever asked anyone if he could hang out with Enjolras, what--

Oh.

“Thursday is date night,” Grantaire says, willing his voice to stay steady.

“That’s why I wanted to ask you first. He’s just been stressed lately, and I know he’s free tonight, and I think he’d really like that movie we were going to watch. But we don’t have to if you’d rather keep it just us.”

Grantaire wants to be selfish, wants to tell Combeferre not to invite his best friend in the world, because it’s date night and date night is kind of sacred and Grantaire just wants to pretend everything is normal. He doesn’t, though; he steels himself and grits his teeth and says, “No, you should invite him,” because over anything else, Grantaire just wants Combeferre to be happy. And Enjolras makes Combeferre happy.

And so they all end up on the couch together, eating stir-fry and watching a history documentary. Grantaire’s got Enjolras to his left, Combeferre to his right, and the couch is small enough that they’re all squished together and under the same blanket. Grantaire doesn’t even know what to do with himself, because Combeferre is holding his hand tight, and he can feel the side of Enjolras’s leg pressed against his own.

Combeferre gets up to put their dishes in the sink when the documentary is over. Enjolras uses the opportunity to look at Grantaire, look towards the kitchen, then look back at Grantaire. He looks… guilty, almost, or at least bashful, and Grantaire already knows that he doesn’t want to hear whatever ridiculously earnest thing is going to come out of his mouth.

“Grantaire, I-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Enjolras frowns. “But… Combeferre, and you and him, and-”

Grantaire shuts his eyes. He does not, repeat, _not_ , want to hear Enjolras discuss how he’s sorry about how he’s about to take away the best thing in his life. “Please just forget it for tonight, Enjolras, it’s supposed to be date night.”

That shuts him up fast. “I’m sorry,” he says, anyways, because Grantaire never has been able to tell him what to do.

They sit together in silence until Combeferre comes back and puts on another movie. Enjolras very definitively does not let his side brush against Grantaire’s. It kind of hurts.

Hours later, Grantaire lies next to Combeferre in bed, head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“That was nice, right?” Combeferre asks, and Grantaire already knows where this is going.

He feigns ignorance. “What was?” he asks, his words muffled by Combeferre’s shirt.

“Us and Enjolras. Enjolras being around. It was nice, right?”

Grantaire feels as though his heart is breaking. “Yeah, Combeferre.”

Combeferre sighs, holds him close. “It’s just… I know you guys have had your issues in the past.”

“He’s an idealist,” he says, which doesn’t cover it all. It doesn’t cover years of hopeless pining, years of misdirected resentfulness and breathless admiration and drunken mistakes and desperate hoping. He’s not sure how much of that Combeferre knows, but Combeferre, as a rule, knows a lot.

“But you…” He pauses, and Grantaire looks up at him, he can’t help himself. Combeferre might not be his for long, but he’s his for now, and Grantaire would rather die than have him be unhappy. “You _like_ him, though, right?”

Grantaire buries his face back in Combeferre’s shirt. “Of course I like him.” Then, because that sounded too incriminating, “He’s your best friend. And…” he sighs. “I think we’re friends too, right? I don’t know. I like him fine, Ferre.”

He laughs. “You sound like him,” he says, and it hurts. “We weren’t sure. Or, well, I was pretty sure that you liked him, but Enj had his doubts.”

That’s too much for Grantaire to think about, so he just shuts his eyes and presses close. “Let’s just go to bed.”

Combeferre makes a sad little sound, but presses a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head. “Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Grantaire murmurs, and he lies still, with his eyes closed, but he doesn’t quite manage to go to sleep, not with Combeferre beneath him and Enjolras just across the hall.

 

* * *

 

The more time Grantaire spends in Combeferre’s apartment, the more he watches Enjolras, and the more he watches Enjolras and Combeferre together. It makes sense, it really does. Enjolras watches Combeferre with such a longing, such blatant want, that it makes sense that Combeferre would take notice. It makes sense that Combeferre would notice just how amazing Enjolras is. God knows Grantaire did, and Enjolras hardly even acknowledges him.

Or, well, that’s not exactly true. Ever since Grantaire and Combeferre got together, Enjolras has been a little more civil. Grantaire assumes it must be partially his doing, too, of course; he hadn’t exactly wanted to drive Combeferre away by constantly fighting his best friend. But now, now that Enjolras has been easing closer and closer these past few weeks, now that Grantaire knows what’s coming, he guesses it might have been something a little like guilt, too.

Enjolras sits down across from at the kitchen table one day when Grantaire is working in his sketchbook.

“Do you need something?” Grantaire asks, and he can’t bear to look up at him, right now.

“No,” Enjolras says, and he sounds so affronted that Grantaire finds himself looking at him anyways. “I was just going to sit here and write a post. Do you mind?”

Grantaire almost laughs; of course he doesn’t _mind_. For all that’s happening, there’s still something amazing about being able to sit with him and not fight. Talk a little, maybe. “No, you can stay.”

They sit together, Enjolras writing, Grantaire sketching him. It’s nice, really. They don’t talk, but every so often, they’ll look up at the same time and smile. Half an hour in, Enjolras gets up to pour himself a cup of coffee, and he brings one back for Grantaire, too, just the way he likes it.

Here’s the deal: Grantaire has been in love with Enjolras for years-- marble-made, intelligent, golden, perfect Enjolras. But this secret Enjolras, who Grantaire has gotten to know as of late, who is shy and a little awkward and beautiful in that casual eye-catching way? Grantaire _loves_ him.

Not that it matters. It just makes things harder, sometimes.

When Combeferre comes back from his class, Enjolras smiles bashfully at him, and he smiles back, and the pit re-appears in Grantaire’s stomach, even as Combeferre comes over to give him a kiss. He drinks his coffee, and he doesn’t know whether he cherishes every drop, or if he hates it with every part of his being. Cherishes it, probably.

 

* * *

 

Combeferre has Grantaire pinned up against the wall in the kitchen, a hand on his ass, one of Grantaire’s legs hiked up just high enough to let him rut up against his boyfriend shamelessly. Grantaire is past the point of caring about dignity, anyways, and Combeferre is kissing him like he’s all he’s ever wanted, and Grantaire feels surrounded and _loved_.

“Ferre,” Grantaire gasps, because seriously, this is getting real very fast. “Should we-”

Combeferre kisses him again, slipping a hand up under Grantaire’s shirt and pushing it up to feel up his stomach, his chest, back around. “Just let me,” he pleads, and Grantaire can only oblige. He only _wants_ to oblige.

He grapples helplessly at Combeferre’s back with one hand, the other sliding into his hair to tug and to _hold,_ and so what if he’s being weirdly possessive right now, Combeferre is too, and this is his for now and he wants it and he loves this man to bits.

“Love you,” he says, because that’s all he can think, and Combeferre groans.

“Let me take your shirt off?”

“Sure.”

And then he’s shirtless, and he can feel Combeferre pressed up against him, and Combeferre’s reaching down to rub at his dick, and it’s so good that he lets his eyes flutter closed, and-

Something falls on the floor, and Grantaire’s eyes snap open to see Enjolras standing in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth just slightly ajar, face flushing deeper and deeper red by the second. A book lies on the floor in front of him, which must have made the noise, and if weren’t for the circumstances, Grantaire would want to laugh.

Combeferre pulls away from Grantaire reluctantly, and Grantaire misses his presence the moment he does. “Enjolras-”

“I should- I- I should go. I’ll go. I- Sorry!” And then Enjolras is back in his room with the slam of a door, the book left on the floor where he dropped it.

Combeferre sighs and turns back to Grantaire. “I’m gonna talk to him.”

Grantaire sits down on the sofa and waits and wills his hard-on to go away.

Maybe, he thinks, this is when it’s going to happen. Wouldn’t that be something? Just a minute ago, Combeferre had been kissing him like he was the only thing that mattered to him in the world. Now-

Well, now, Combeferre might be doing so to someone more deserving.

At least Combeferre won’t lie to him about it. Short and sweet, that’s what Grantaire is hoping for. _I’m sorry, it’s been fun, I like my gorgeous best friend more._ Maybe even a bit more tact.

Grantaire doesn’t notice that Combeferre is back until he sits down beside him on the sofa and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Hey.”

Combeferre squeezes him tight, just for a moment, and Grantaire can’t help but feel a little more hopeful. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought he was out. I wouldn’t have put you in that position if I knew he was home.”

Grantaire shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“No, R, I’m sorry. I was trying to do this slowly, and I keep messing it up.”

Oh.

Oh, there it is.

Combeferre’s looking at him, all earnestness and those big brown eyes, and Grantaire can’t be in the apartment anymore. He just can’t. He can’t just fucking _wait_ for Combeferre to drag this out any longer, it’s _cruel._

He stands up, pulling his shirt back on. “I should go home.”

He’s out the door and on the street before he has time to even think to grab his coat.

 

* * *

 

That night, he dreams of the feeling of Enjolras’s gaze on him, and when he wakes up, he cries, burying his face in the hoodie he stole from Combeferre that he knows he’s going to have to give back. It isn’t _fair_ , it isn’t fair that he got to get a taste of how good things could be only to have it ripped away again. It isn’t fair that the two people he loves most in the world deserve each other more than he ever will either of them. It isn’t fair that he can’t be enough.

He makes himself coffee, eventually, and he sits in the shitty kitchenette and thinks about how little he’s been in his own apartment, lately. It feels like he’d been so, so close to moving in with Combeferre, and now that’s gone. Now he’s going to have to get used to living alone, again.

God, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to go back to a couple weeks ago, before Combeferre had even _mentioned_ anything to do with Enjolras. He wants everything to go back to normal.

His phone vibrates on the table where he left it the night before, and he winces. He know who’s calling before he checks the screen. It’s Combeferre, obviously, only half due to the fact that two months ago, Grantaire assigned him his own vibration ringtone, just so he’d always know. He's left about six voicemails, too, but Grantaire thinks his heart will break if he listens to them, right now.

Grantaire picks up after three rings. “Hello?” He says, and he knows he sounds awful.

“Grantaire?” Combeferre asks, on the other end, and Grantaire misses him already.

“Hey.”

Grantaire is pretty sure he can hear Enjolras in the background, talking in that hushed, serious tone of his. “Listen, Grantaire,” Combeferre says. “Could you come back to the apartment? I think we need to talk some things through.”

Grantaire has to bite his lip to stop himself from breaking into tears yet again. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“R-” Combeferre begins, but Grantaire hangs up before he can say anything more.

Christ.

He finishes his coffee, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed, pulling Combeferre’s hoodie back on, after.

He’s there in twenty minutes, as promised, and Combeferre lets him in as soon as he knocks, like he’d been waiting, which he probably had. When Grantaire walks into the apartment, Enjolras is sitting on the sofa, brow pinched, but Combeferre ushers him past and into his bedroom.

“Ferre?”

“I think we need to talk about something,” Combeferre says, sitting down on the bed.

Grantaire joins him. “I know.”

Combeferre sighs, and they sit quietly beside each other for a while before he speaks. “I thought you’d be happier,” he admits.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shit, no, don’t apologise. I was the one who guessed wrong.”

“Yeah, well…” Grantaire leans back on his hands and watches Combeferre. “Shit guess, Ferre.” His throat is feeling uncomfortably tight, but he figures if he cries during his own breakup, he’s justified.

Combeferre runs a hand through his hair. “R, I only did this because I thought you’d be fine with it. I thought you’d be happy.”

He lets out a rueful laugh. “You’re the love of my fucking life, I think you’re gonna have to give me a little while.”

“I did this wrong,” Combeferre says, and he looks distressed, now. “I thought we were… I thought we could work around it. I thought it was a good solution for both of us. I thought you liked him.”

Grantaire swallows. “Of course I like him, Ferre. You two are kind of painfully good for each other. My boyfriend and the man I’ve loved for four years are getting together, though, you have to admit this scenario seems a little unbalanced, here.”

Combeferre frowns. “I don’t- How?”

Grantaire has never seen Combeferre be so dense in his entire life. “You get to be with Enjolras, who is stunning and amazing and perfect. He gets to be with you, and you are so, so wonderful, and kind, and smart, and loving, and _everything_. I get-” he lets out a sob, and God, now he’s crying. “I get to be broken up with, and I get to live on my own, after the best eight months of my life. Excuse me for being jealous.”

Combeferre is staring at him like he’s just spoken in fluent Romanian. “Are- Grantaire, we don’t need to- we could fix it, pretend it never happened, what are you-”

“Why are you taking this so hard?”

“ _Why are you breaking up with me?”_ Combeferre shoots back, and Grantaire freezes.

“What?”

“If you didn’t want to be with Enj, you could have told me, he would have understood, I don’t understand why you need to- I made a mistake, I’m _sorry_ , but we don’t need to break up, I love you. I love you.” Combeferre is crying now, too, and Grantaire doesn’t understand anything that’s happening anymore.

Grantaire shakes his head. “Wait, back up. Back up. What’s happening?”

Combeferre scrubs across his eyes with the back of his hand. “I thought… You said you wanted Enjolras, and Courf thought you did, too, so I thought… You two are just so difficult, so I thought I could just get around it all and… I thought we would get together. All of us. He wanted to. He wants you. But it’s fine, you don’t want- Only I don’t understand, but that’s fine, just-”

“Enjolras wants me?” Grantaire manages, because he has so many questions, but that’s the one that makes the least sense.

“What did you think was happening? You thought I was just shoving you together for the fun of it?”

“I thought you were dumping me for your best friend.”

Combeferre looks stricken. “Grantaire, _no_.”

“I’m kind of getting that now.” He takes a deep breath. “Enjolras wants me?” he asks again.

Combeferre nods. “We were kind of hoping you would want to date us both. But it’s up to you.”

Grantaire bursts into tears.

Enjolras is in the room within seconds, looking bedraggled and standing in the doorway like he’s ready to fight. Combeferre’s already pulled Grantaire in close to his chest.

“What happened?” Enjolras demands, looking around the room frantically. He’s got rings under his eyes, Grantaire notices, and he wonders just how much sleep he got last night.

Combeferre rolls his eyes. “Thank you so much for the privacy, Enj,” he says pointedly.

Enjolras gestures at Grantaire, the tears on both of their cheeks. “I thought something happened!”

Grantaire looks up at Enjolras, eyes wide. Because… it really can’t be that he gets to be with this ridiculous, wonderful man, can it? Not Enjolras, standing there in pajama pants and slippers, coffee stain on his shirt that he probably has yet to notice. “Combeferre says… Combeferre says you wanted to be with me. With us,” he says, voice hardly audibly.

Enjolras looks down at his hands. “I didn’t want to mess anything up between you two.”

“You didn’t.”

Enjolras fidgets with his hands before the two of them, and months ago, Grantaire would have been surprised. Now, he’s not so sure. He opens his mouth, as if to ask Grantaire something, but then turns to Combeferre, instead. “Ferre?” he asks, eyes wide and searching.

Combeferre glances over at Grantaire, and Grantaire nods, because he knows exactly what he wants. Combeferre must understand, too, because he reaches out to take Enjolras by the hand and pull him to straddle his lap.

Enjolras looks as though he tries to resist, at first, before he gives in and folds against him, eyes still locked on Grantaire. “Ferre, are you sure-”

Combeferre nods, but he looks nervous himself, and he doesn’t seem to be able to settle his hands on Enjolras’s waist.

Grantaire groans. They’re both ridiculous, honestly. “Why are you two being so shy about this? Didn’t you get all this out of the way last night?”

Combeferre looks at him, startled. “We haven’t… we didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t. _Enj_ wouldn’t. Not without your say so,” he says, because apparently, Grantaire was wrong about everything. It’s never felt so good to be wrong, before, especially when he spent the night before imagining what exactly they were doing without him.

Enjolras is still watching him, and Grantaire is reminded of just how young he his. He forgets, usually, that Enjolras is 22 and fresh out of University and really a very anxious person; it doesn’t quite line up right in his head, so he ignores it. Now, with those big blue eyes on him, it makes sense.

He reaches out a hand, slow and cautious as anything, and allows himself a concession-- he reaches out and brushes his fingertips across Enjolras’s regal, perfect cheekbone, that radiant skin. Just that, that’s all, surely that’s all that’s allowed, but then Enjolras _shivers_ , still in Combeferre’s lap but leaning into Grantaire’s touch like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

Shit, how could anyone ever expect him to hold back, when Enjolras is right there?

He shuffles closer, lets his hand slip into Enjolras’s hair, and kisses him. A light kiss, barely there, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. Enjolras is shaking beneath his hands, and he’s so clearly inexperienced, but it’s so, so good. He kisses like he’s never done so before in his life. Grantaire very carefully considers the fact that he very well may not have.

Grantaire pulls back, eventually, and opens his eyes, and Enjolras looks fucking enraptured. “Enj?” he asks, rubbing at his cheek with his thumb. “All good?”

Enjolras’s eyes flutter open, and then he’s looking at Grantaire like Grantaire’s just given him the meaning of it all. “Shit,” he says, and Grantaire’s never heard him swear before in his life, so he laughs, and then Enjolras is kissing him again, desperate and fast and messy and Grantaire can’t _breathe._

Combeferre slips a hand up the back of Grantaire’s shirt, and it’s a comfort, and it’s a stunningly welcome familiar aspect to this whole scenario. Combeferre behind him, Enjolras leaning over to kiss him so deeply Grantaire is sure he’s dreaming.

Enjolras pulls away suddenly, and Grantaire starts to ask what’s wrong when he sees Combeferre’s hand in those golden curls, and the way Enjolras is looking at him, and he laughs and nudges him back towards Combeferre.

They fall together. Combeferre holds him tight, and so close, and Enjolras’s hands hover above his shoulders like he can’t quite bring himself to return the favor, never mind the way Combeferre kissing him like he’ll never let go.

Grantaire leans up to press kisses to Enjolras’s neck, and when he sucks lightly beneath his jaw, just to try it, Enjolras whimpers, takes one of those nervous hands, and winds it tight in Grantaire’s hair, holding him close. Not like Grantaire minds.

He’s content to kiss Enjolras anywhere, so he does. He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but he switches to nuzzling into Combeferre’s neck at some point, relishing in the faint stubble there, the familiar smell of his skin. Then Enjolras is pulling him back up and kissing him for real again, and Combeferre, the bastard, pulls him off.

“Ferre!” Grantaire whines, and Enjolras whines too, dejected, before Combeferre plants a quick kiss on each of their mouths.

But Combeferre has a plan, he always does, and he’s stripping Grantaire of his shirt, and them himself of his own, because he’s a fucking genius.

Enjolras looks like he’s about to pass out.

“Okay?” Combeferre asks him, and he nods, but all words seem to have left him, so Grantaire decides to do him a solid and get to the point.

He drags Enjolras off of Combeferre’s lap and deposits him fully on the bed, then lies down beside him “I don’t know how much you want to do right now,” he says, daring to slip a hand up under Enjolras’s shirt.

“I- um…” He looks towards Combeferre helplessly, and Combeferre settles beside him, taking Enjolras’s hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. It must not help to clear Enjolras’s head, though, because he just stares before he manages to bring his gaze back to Grantaire. “Grantaire, do you want me?”

Grantaire frowns. “Course I want you.”

Apparently, that’s not enough of an answer, because Enjolras frowns and won’t meet his eye, and Grantaire can’t believe he’s messed this already. “But do you- I told Combeferre I would only… _do_ this, if you really wanted me, and I was so sure that you didn’t, and I didn’t want to… to intrude, but Ferre said you did, and I don’t _know,_ and I need you to _tell_ me, because I can’t do this if you’re just looking for… for...”

“I’m in love with you.”

Enjolras buries his face in Grantaire’s bare chest. Beside him, Combeferre is beaming, and he leans in to kiss Grantaire before running a hand down Enjolras’s arm.

“Enj,” Combeferre says, and he must know something, because he sounds… teasing, and happy, and Grantaire trusts that.

Enjolras says something into Grantaire’s chest, and it’s so muffled he has to laugh.

Combeferre leans down and presses a kiss just behind Enjolras’s ear. “Speak up?”

He pulls away from Grantaire’s chest by a centimeter, maximum, and says, voice nearly as soft as before. “I love both of you so much. I just wanted you to be happy, I never thought I’d ever get this. I thought Ferre was lying, God, I want you, I want everything.”

Combeferre kisses his jawline. “I love you. You already know that,” he says, and then he’s relieving Enjolras of his shirt and Grantaire is faced with the man he’s been fantasizing about for four years shirtless and flushed and goddamn _gorgeous._

“Shit, Apollo,” he says, because that’s all he can manage. “God, you’re too much.”

And then they’re kissing again, grasping at each other like they’re all that matters, and then Combeferre is there too, and it’s messier with three, but definitely better. They lose the pants in an awkward flurry of movement, and Grantaire ends up kissing Enjolras and jacking himself off as Combeferre blows him, and it’s the hottest thing Grantaire has ever, ever experienced, especially when Enjolras starts whimpering into the kiss and biting at his lips. Especially when Enjolras knocks Grantaire’s hand away and starts jerking him off, instead, tight and kind of distracted, sometimes, but overall, amazing.

Enjolras comes with a gasp, and he lets go of Grantaire’s cock, but that’s okay, because it only takes a stroke or two before Grantaire is coming, too, with the sight before him. He pulls Combeferre up to join them again, and he jerks him off, too, until he comes, Enjolras’s gaze hot on the both of them.

Enjolras falls asleep as soon as Combeferre wipes them all down and rejoins them in the bed. Grantaire wants to laugh, what with how little he sleeps on the regular, but Combeferre just looks fond.

“He needs the rest,” he says. “Neither of us got much sleep last night. We were worried.”

“Sorry.” Grantaire kisses him, soft and tender. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

Combeferre shakes his head. “No, I messed up. I can’t even imagine what you thought of me, R, I love you so much.”

He shakes his head. “It worked out anyways.”

Combeferre pulls them both close, and they fall asleep tangled together, as it should be.

 

* * *

 

They wake up in the afternoon, and once they make it out of bed, they sit around the kitchen table, eating old Thai takeout and kicking their feet together lazily.

Grantaire is the first to speak, besides the small talk they’ve been passing back and forth with knowing smiles. “So,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “I was just wondering, does this mean that… are we…”

Combeferre shoots Enjolras a look. “Boyfriends, I think. Or, well, that goes without saying, for us, but for the three of us, is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire is kind of hopelessly pleased. “That what you want, Apollo?”

Enjolras flushes red and looks down at his food, but he nods and bumps his ankle against Grantaire’s. “Yeah. That’s what I want.”

Grantaire has no idea what on Earth he did to deserve this, but he figures this is about to be the best year of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> moral of the story is communicate about your schemes or people will think you have a different scheme than you really do, COMBEFERRE


End file.
